


Consolation (it's not like you're a prize)

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [55]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 11:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: He has to get out of this town.





	Consolation (it's not like you're a prize)

The morning after the last preseason game — another loss that earns them a pitiful 2-5-0 record — Donahue calls Jared into his office.

“You looked great out there,” Donahue says. Jared’s stopped calling him GM Dumbfuck even in his head, because what if it _escaped_ his head and entered his mouth? Nightmare fodder. “We were really impressed by the growth you’ve shown.”

“Thanks,” Jared says. His mouth is dry. This is — either way this goes, it’s going to suck somehow.

“We think you’re going to make a great addition to this team,” Donahue goes on, then pauses, and Jared senses a ‘but’. He resists the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants.

“But—” Donahue says, and there it is. “Right now we think the best place for you is the WHL.”

Jared nods. A lot. He’s having trouble talking, for once. “I understand,” he manages, finally.

“It came down to the wire, Jared,” Donahue says. “You have a lot of potential already, but we think another year of development might make a difference in the long run for your career, and we have to think longterm here.”

“I really do understand,” Jared says, feeling kind of numb. “I’m not — I understand.”

“We have a lot of faith in you,” Donahue says, then a bunch of other conciliatory stuff Jared barely listens to, and when he’s done, Jared gets up to shake his hand.

It doesn’t hit Jared until he’s outside, and then he finds himself breathing too fast, too hard, like he just got off a shift instead of getting told — well. Getting told he isn’t good enough. Getting told they don’t want him.

He has to get out of this town. 

“Hey,” his mom says, picking up on the first ring. “Did you—”

“Can you come pick me up?” Jared asks. “I can take a train probably, but they’re expensive last minute and I just — I want to go home.”

“Oh, honey,” she interrupts, and Jared finds his eyes blurring. He doesn’t know why he’s this upset right now. “Yeah, I’ll take the afternoon off work, come pick you up this evening, okay? I’ll leave in about an hour, that work?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jared says, has to bite back a ‘don’t tell dad’. Don’t tell dad what? That he didn’t make the team? His dad’s obviously going to know whether she tells him or not: the glaring lack of Jared on the roster will be a bit of a giveaway.

“I’m so sorry, Jared,” she says.

“Me too,” Jared says, voice coming out smaller than he’d like, and he thinks he means it.

 _Coming your way_ , Jared texts Bryce on his way back to the hotel. _Be home tonight._

Bryce sends back a string of question marks, followed by, _u didnt make the team?_ , then, before waiting for an actual response, a whole slew of sad emojis.

 _Generally not how you want someone to react when you tell him you’re coming home_ , Jared texts.

 _im glad ur back im sorry u didnt make the team_ , Bryce texts, then, _donahues a moron_

If someone told Jared he would be defending GM Dumbfuck — Jared stop calling him that it’ll backfire on you epically one day — a year ago, he would have laughed in their face, but he finds himself typing _No he made the right decision_ , followed by, _I don’t think I’m ready yet._ , which he sends before he can stop himself.

He gets a whole bunch more sad emojis in response, along with a _i think u are_ , which is sweet, but probably wrong.

Brewer’s not in the room when Jared gets back, maybe has his own meeting with Donahue. His stuff’s still there, so he hasn’t had it yet. Or he has, and some fifth rounder who couldn’t even crack forty points in the Dub last year made the team instead of Jared.

Fuck, Jared _really_ has to get out of this town. 

Packing only takes a half hour, even though he stretches it out, searches the room top to bottom to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, and his mom won’t be here for at least three more hours. He doesn’t want to stick around in this room, especially if Brewer’s going to be coming back, doesn’t want to accidentally run into someone who made it, or someone who didn’t and wants to commiserate about it, so he leaves his bags with the concierge and hides at a nearby Tims, getting himself an large mocha ice capp, because fuck it. He’ll have to show his face in the Hitmen dressing room sooner rather than later, and he had better produce this year if he wants to ever be anything but a failed draft pick, but he can have one fucking thing.

Jared finds himself obsessively reading through all the articles from a prominent Oilers blog. He’s not mentioned much in the preseason write-ups, which is a bad sign, shows exactly what kind of impression he made.

 _I’m so sorry_ , Raf texts when Jared’s reached the first post on training camp, and Jared bites his lip, goes to see if the Caps have posted their final roster yet. They have, and Raf’s name is on it, as it should be.

 _It’s okay, wasn’t ready._ , Jared texts Raf. _You are though. You deserve it. Congrats, dude_.

Jared sticks around Tims until he feels awkward about it, goes outside and calls his agent back, because he’s got two missed calls from him he just — wasn’t ready for. He isn’t ready now either, but it’s kind of unprofessional to dodge your agent about, you know, his fucking job, so. Greg makes a lot of conciliatory statements, same as Donahue did, reminds Jared how rare it is for players to play in their first year, especially if they weren’t a top five draft pick. And he’s right, Jared knows he’s right — hell, Bryce was sent down to play in the WHL the year of his draft, and he’s a way better player than Jared — it’s just…it doesn’t make him feel better. Logic is usually very helpful to Jared, and it sort of still is, but he continues to feel shitty when he gets off the phone.

His dad calls basically the second he wraps up with Greg, and after his phone quits vibrating Jared texts him _Can’t talk right now I’ll see you tonight_ , presuming his mom’s already told him he didn’t make it, considering this is call number three from him.

 _ok buddy_ , his dad texts back, and Jared thankfully doesn’t get another call, though he gets plenty more texts from a bunch of people basically just saying the same thing: sorry you suck.

His mom gives him a hug so long he’s a little afraid he’s going to crack into pieces when she gets in, but thankfully she doesn’t make him talk about it like everyone else seems to want to, lets him know about all the developments in their extended family since he went off to training camp. It’s all little things, and some of them she already mentioned on the few calls they shared while he was away, but he doesn’t interrupt her, because it’s better to listen to this than talk about anything else, and it looks like she gets that, at least.

“I’m guessing you want me to drop you off at Bryce’s?” his mom asks when they hit the outskirts of Calgary, and he’s about to say yes, but she sounds kind of upset about it. She just drove three hours both ways to drive him home, too, so that’d probably be a dick move.

“It’s our place,” Jared says. “Not Bryce’s. And I can swing by home for a bit first, catch a cab over there or something.”

“You just want me to make you dinner,” she says, but she sounds a little lighter.

“I’ll be happy to eat anything that’s not hotel food right now,” Jared says. “So maybe.”

“Spaghetti?” she asks.

“Sounds perfect,” Jared says, and she takes her hand off the wheel for a moment to squeeze his shoulder, a touch he leans into.

 _Parents want me home for dinner, and considering my mom drove 6 hours just to pick me up I can’t really say no_ , Jared texts when she gets off at the exit to their place.

 _whatever u need_ , Bryce texts back. _im here._

His mom gets started on dinner when they get in, and Erin comes down from her Den of Doom before it’s even ready, doesn’t fight him for the remote, just lets him watch Sportscentre, where they have a whole lot of hockey to cover for obvious reasons. It’s not like Jared expected a ‘Jared Matheson was cut from the Oilers today’ comment or anything, he doubts he’s even on anyone’s radar, but — he doesn’t know. They don’t mention him. Obviously.

His dad doesn’t get home until dinner’s ready, and Jared’s grateful, because he can’t talk to his dad about this right now, doesn’t want to go over it, or discuss what his faults were, what he can work on, any of that. He should, and he will eventually, but he can’t do it today.

Erin doesn’t say a single mean thing during dinner, which is good because Jared’s kind of afraid if she did he might cry, and that’d scare the shit out of everyone. They say mean things to each other. That’s what they do. Except nobody’s doing it tonight, stepping carefully around Jared like he might explode, and — well, he might. 

They talk about how Erin’s liking high school — well, if Erin grunting at every question asked counts as talking about it. They talk about some jackass his dad had to deal with today who kept acting like he knew more than his dad did about wiring, even though he was a freaking accountant. By some silent mutual consent, the words ‘Oilers’ or ‘Hitmen’ or ‘cut’ never enter the conversation, and Jared’s pretty sure that’s his mom’s doing, that she took his dad and Erin aside or texted them or something to tell them that Jared didn’t want to talk about it, so they weren’t going to talk about it or they’d face her wrath.

He loves his mom a lot right now. 

Jared wants to go to Bryce right after dinner, but it seems rude, especially after his dad hands him a beer, and when Jared side-eyes it, says, “You can have one, you had a hard day.”, before getting one for himself, because Jared guesses he did too. Probably doesn’t feel great to hear your kid didn’t make it. Not quite the same as hearing you didn’t, but shitty regardless.

Erin disappears upstairs while the three of them watch the news mostly in silence, but right around when Jared starts making noises about getting a cab, she appears in the living room like a spectre with uncannily precise timing.

“I’m sorry,” Erin says quietly, lurking beside his spot on the couch, which is weird and a little disturbing, both the sorry and almost gentle tone of voice.

“Thanks,” Jared says.

“I wanted to get some more use out of my Oilers jersey,” she says, which is more like her.

Jared snorts.

“Sorry,” she says again, and leans down to give him a hug, probably the first time she’s done it in years. Jared hugs her back for all of half a second before she pulls away and darts back upstairs.

“Did that just happen?” Jared asks.

“She really does feel bad,” his mom says, then, “She liked that Oilers jersey.”

Jared lobs the cap of his beer at her as she laughs.

“I really should call for a ride,” Jared says, after she tosses it back at him. Bryce would almost certainly come pick him up if he asked, but Jared has a feeling he’s going to need to be like — touching him, and not letting go, the second he sees him, and obviously he’s learned his lesson about getting up to shit in cars.

“You’re not getting a cab, don’t be ridiculous,” his dad says, and Jared wonders if this is it, the moment his dad is legit going to lock him in his room rather than let him go home to Bryce, before he says, “I’ll drive you over.”

‘Over’ is noticeably not ‘home’, or even ‘to your place’, but Jared’s not going to jeopardize a free ride by arguing semantics with his dad. 

His mom gives him another crushing hug before he goes, and Jared gets into the car with his dad, a silence sitting heavy between them as Jared watches the streetlights fly past.

“I don’t really know what to tell you,” his dad says after they pull onto the highway.

“It’s okay,” Jared says.

“No,” his dad says. “It’s not. I know you don’t feel okay right now.”

Jared looks back out the window.

“I know it sucks,” his dad says. “I’m sorry it sucks. I wish I knew what I could say to help, but you know I’m not — you know I’m not good at this stuff.”

“It’s okay, dad,” Jared says.

“It’s not okay,” his dad says, closer to a shout. “It’s fucking bullshit, Jared, they’re—”

“Dad,” Jared says. “Don’t, okay? If I’m not pissed about this you don’t get to be pissed about this.”

“Why _aren’t_ you?” his dad asks. “You work so much fucking harder—”

“I don’t want to suck,” Jared says. “Okay? I don’t want to walk into my first season and fucking suck and make people doubt that I even deserve to be there, and if another season in the Dub means that I come out of the gate better, I want to do that. I’m — they’re probably putting Chaz on the fucking _third line_ , and he didn’t even make the Golden Seals’ preseason last year even though he’s _awesome_ , and Bryce — Bryce is a legit phenomenon, and even then he didn’t play more than a few games for the Flames until he was nineteen, so it’s not like this is weird. I don’t want to suck, and they don’t want someone who sucks, and that’s fine, okay? I’ll get better, and I’ll make it when I am.”

“You had seventy fucking points last season,” his dad says. “In what world do you suck?”

“In the NHL,” Jared says. “I didn’t deserve it and I didn’t get it, and I need to start focusing on the Hitmen season and I can’t do that if you keep yelling—”

Jared cuts himself off after his voice breaks mortifyingly.

“I’m sorry,” his dad says.

“It’s fine,” Jared mumbles.

They drive in silence for a minute.

“Did you talk to Greg today?” his dad says. “Did he say—”

“ _Dad_ ,” Jared says.

“Sorry, sorry,” his dad says. 

Jared barely waits for his dad to stop the car before he gets out, grabbing his suitcase from the trunk. His dad rolls the window down. “I know you don’t want to talk about this right now,” his dad says. “But when you do, I’m here, okay bud?”

“For sure,” Jared says. “Thanks.”

The guy at the front desk gives Jared a little wave when he comes in, like he recognises him even after weeks away, and Jared should — really talk to Bryce about that, but not tonight. 

When he gets in the door, Bryce is standing in front of the couch in front of a dark TV, like maybe he turned it off and stood up the second he heard Jared’s key in the lock.

“Hey,” Bryce says, and Jared drops his bag and walks right into his arms.

Bryce wraps his arms around him, just on the right edge of too tight. “I’m so sorry,” Bryce whispers, and Jared swallows hard once, again.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jared says. “Can we just—I really need to touch you right now.”

Bryce squeezes him tighter.

“It is just stupid how much I missed you,” Jared says, and he is pretty sure the words he kisses out of Bryce’s mouth are ‘me too’, but he needs to kiss him more than he needs to hear them.

Thankfully Bryce seems to be on the same page as him, because they don’t exchange a single word as they stumble down the hallway, strip down, hit the bed. It’s a rushed, clumsy press of mouths, of hips, neither of them bothering to grab the lube from the bedside table, even though the friction’s on the wrong side of rough, the two of them not quite in rhythm until they are, Bryce’s mouth hot against his, this whole ‘look, no hands’ desperate thing, because Bryce grabbed his hands, laced their fingers together, and Jared doesn’t want to let go, not even if it meant he’d have Bryce’s hand on his dick instead. 

He takes it all, takes it all in; the uneven hitch of Bryce’s breathing as he fucks down, the kisses that devolve into something closer to sharing breath, the way Bryce squeezes his hands tight, like if he lets go Jared’s going to disappear right out of his bed. It’s good — it’s messy and ridiculous and not even close to the best sex they’ve had, but it’s good — but it’s not quite enough until Jared frees a hand, squeezing the hand he’s still holding when Bryce makes a protesting noise, and gets a hand around Bryce’s dick. Jared fights the urge to just rut up against his abs while Bryce recovers after spilling against his stomach, and that was absolutely the best decision, because as soon as Bryce catches his breath he’s sliding down Jared’s body, taking him into his mouth, and fuck, Jared missed his mouth so much. Jared missed everything so much.

Bryce never lets go of his hand, not when he’s swallowing around him, not when he’s flopping down beside him, not until Jared complains he’s gross now, and then he does just long enough to grab some Kleenex, wipe off Jared’s stomach before tossing them in the direction of the garbage —he misses, and Jared is appalled he just leaves them there, but not appalled enough to get up and throw them away properly — and hit the lights, before reclaiming it again.

“You know, it’s going to be super hard to live your life surgically attached to someone by the hand,” Jared says.

“Shut up,” Bryce says. “I don’t see you letting go.”

Well. Touche.

“It’s weird,” Bryce says. “Like — I dunno, you’re right here but I don’t like, believe it? So if you want your hand back, too bad.”

Jared rubs his thumb over the back of Bryce’s hand. He gets that, a little, and honestly he doesn’t mind after going weeks without touching Bryce, without touching anyone, really, beyond fist bumps and handshakes and hugs on the ice. And that last one, well, — that last one was way, way too rare.

Jared shifts closer, letting go of Bryce’s hand — “Oh my god, I’ll give it back,” he says to the complaining sound Bryce makes— until he’s made himself comfortable, head on Bryce’s chest, offering his hand so Bryce can lace their fingers again. He listens to the slow pound of Bryce’s heart under his ear, and he holds on tight.

Bryce falls asleep fast, easy, and Jared can’t, finds himself staring into the dark same way he did in Edmonton, but at least he’s got Bryce’s even breathing to lull him, Bryce’s chin nudging his head, lax hand still twined in his, Bryce’s smell on the sheets and maybe Jared’s too, not right now, but eventually, because it’s not Bryce’s bed, it’s theirs, and he’ll be sleeping in it now, leave traces of himself too, so Bryce won’t ever doubt he’s been there, is there, is going to be there again soon.

Home, Jared thinks, and it’s a good feeling, but — it’s a good feeling, maybe, but it hurts too.


End file.
